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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24208570">Like A Glass of Whiskey</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmayaNoAkatsuki/pseuds/AmayaNoAkatsuki'>AmayaNoAkatsuki</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Naruto</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Bar/Pub, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bar Aesthetic, Closet Romantics Are the Best, F/M, Falling In Love, Fluff and Smut, Genma Weekend 2020, Genma is A Closet Romantic, Happy Ending, He Better Thank His Friends, I Think Its A Songfic, I Wish I Had A Boyfriend Like That, Love is An Intoxication, Making Love, Nothing but Metaphors, Porn With Plot, Romance, Sakura Owes Ino Big Time, Sakura knows what she wants, Sex, Sweetness Overload, That's Wholesome AF, They Met At A Bar, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Whirlwind romances, don't tell anyone</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 15:55:38</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>16,865</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24208570</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmayaNoAkatsuki/pseuds/AmayaNoAkatsuki</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>He reminds her of the whiskey she's been sipping on all night, in that he's something she longed for after a long shift, and he walks as if his soul is playing a bluesy rock ballad that only he could hear. Everything about him from the toothpick nestled at the corner of his mouth, to the sexily disheveled hair, to the swagger of his walk, just screams "just for fun, not for keeps" but for some reason Sakura can't find it in herself to care.</p><p>The moment his lips press against hers, Sakura knows she's in trouble.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Haruno Sakura/Shiranui Genma</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>39</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>102</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Alright, so I've been wanting to write a Genma x Sakura fic for the past five years but never had an idea. Until now. And this is the result of it! Alcohol, bluesy country-rock, and romance—tons of romance. What else do you need in life? This is going to be a three part fic. The first chapter is sickeningly sweet and cutesy, while the second and third chapters heat up. So I promise there will be lots of fun stuff to come.</p><p>I also recommend referencing the songs that are mentioned at the start of each section as you read! They kind of set the tone for each scene. Does that make this count as a songfic then?</p><p>Anyway, let's hop right on in! I hope you enjoy~</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>
    
  </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>Like A Glass of Whiskey</strong>
</p><p><em>Black Velvet </em>by Alannah Myles</p>
<hr/><p>The bar stool she picks is well-worn and rickety, with discolored studs and a gash in the cracked red leather, but Sakura doesn't think too much about it to care. The bar counter matches its age, made of a shiny pine with matte spots where the polish had chipped away and embellished with pockmarks and cherry stains that are too stubborn to wash away. But again, she doesn't care. She smiles politely at the bartender as she settles into her seat, shrugging off her jacket and draping it over the back of her seat.</p><p>"I'll have my usual, please," She says once the bartender makes his way over, then twists in her seat to survey the room for any familiar faces.</p><p>She can't see much in the bar's age-speckled lighting, but she's seen the place enough times to know where everything is. At 9 o' clock on a Friday night, there's all sorts of characters hanging around—men and women who look older than they are, slumped over half-empty pint glasses and knocked over peanuts; standing drinkers at the end of the bar who don't seem to mind chatting despite being strangers; couples nestled in secluded corners, stealing kisses over whiskey breath. The smaller tables are occupied by people who seem to be enjoying themselves, perhaps a little too much, but no one seems to mind. The pool tables are all taken up by the resident pool sharks and some freshly certified drinkers, and one shy couple that's more interested in each other's hands than their game. She doesn't see anyone she recognizes, but that's okay. It's still too early for it to fill up.</p><p>Sakura's fingers drum across the countertop along to the beat of the bluesy guitar blaring from the jukebox—<em>Mississippi in the middle of a dry spell. Jimmy Rodgers on the Victrola up high</em>—and her lips murmur the lyrics despite her hardly remembering ever hearing the song.</p><p>An old-fashioned glass is placed in front of her, it's contents an opaque amber color with a few drops of grenadine that's already swirling into the rest of the drink. The smiles at the bartender again, handing over her debit card with the dainty flick of her wrist. She starts a tab. She stirs her straw around the glass a few times to mix the red sweetener into the rest of the drink before trapping it against the side with her finger and drinks straight from the glass. The Jameson caresses her throat kindly, teased with a breath of sour and a wink of pomegranate, and Sakura closes her eyes to savor the taste before setting the drink back down on her coaster. It's made exactly the way she likes it.</p><p>In that one sip, she already feels the worries of the day begin to slip down her throat, its burn fading away by the time it reached her stomach. Her knuckles tingle. The liquor brings back memories of good times past, and she is content to dwell in it for as long as possible.</p><p>Sighing in content, Sakura faces the bar again and leans onto her elbows. Sometimes, she isn't sure why she bothers coming by, as tired as she is. Sure, she loves spending time with her friends, who were off busy doing their own things and living their own lives, and knew better than to waste the time they had together. It was an unspoken rule that everyone tried to meet up on either Friday or Saturday—both days ideally, but showing up on at least one day kept Ino and Karin off your back for a while. But more often than not, Sakura finds the mere <em>thought </em>of applying makeup and straightening her hair and donning her favorite pair of boots <em>exhausting</em>, especially after a long shift. Even when she comes in jeans and a tank top and skips the pampering, the process seems tiring—or as Shikamaru would say: <em>troublesome</em>. She blames stress; work, family, housing. Most people would have jumped for joy at the thought of promotions and moving out on their own, but Sakura <em>dreaded </em>it. Promotion to management meant more responsibilities, more work, and getting her own apartment just meant paying her own bills that just never seemed to let her catch up.</p><p>Shit, just thinking about the bill statements piling up on her glass coffee table deigned another gulp of her drink.</p><p>"Sakura, you made it!"</p><p>The hand that splays against her lower back pulls Sakura from her reverie. Turning to the right, she greets Naruto and Sasuke with a smile and a hug for each of them. The two look equally as tired as she does. Well, Sasuke does. Naruto's never tired, much to her annoyance at times. "Of course," She snorts, rolling her eyes. "It's not often I get both Friday and Saturday off. If I didn't show up, Ino would pitch a fit."</p><p>The men slip onto the stools on either side of her, Naruto halfway folded over the bar as he trades cheeky greetings with the bartender while Sasuke thumbs his temples. There's a tenseness to his muscles that makes him look more like a mannequin that a twenty-six year old man. This makes Sakura frown; Sasuke was always serious, but seeing him him like this—bleary eyed and a day unshaven, with an extra button on his top left undone—isn't right.</p><p>"You alright?" She asks, setting a hand on his shoulder.</p><p>"Yeah," The Uchiha sighs. "I'm just tired. They've got me patrolling days again."</p><p>"And instead of going to bed you're here." Her voice is pointed, dry.</p><p>"I'll be fine," He assures with the dismissive wave of his hand.</p><p>Sakura doesn't believe him but she also doesn't want to argue with him, so she drops the topic. "How's things with your partner? Has she warmed up to you yet, or is she still a bitch?"</p><p>A mirthless scoff bubbles from Sasuke's mouth. "Anko's a lot easier to deal with on night shifts." He breaks off to relay his order to the bartender—<em>"Hibiki with two rocks and a dash of soda water."</em>—then returns to her. "We've been patrolling together for three months now, and I still feel like she'll shoot me when no one's looking."</p><p>"Oh I'm sure that's an over exaggeration."</p><p>"Sakura, she tased Shisui in the break room for looking at her too long," Sasuke dryly replies, blinking purposefully, then nodding to the bartender in thanks as his drink was pushed in front him. "He can't even be the same room as her, now."</p><p>"Okay well that's intimidating and a bit excessive," She murmurs with a slight frown. Then she smiles again, this time more reassuringly. "But I'm sure you guys will find common ground. Just cut her slack."</p><p>"Yeah, and let her hang me with it?" He snorted. He raised his glass in salute, their drinks clangoring in mutual toast as Naruto finally joins them, then he takes a measured sip before continuing. "I'm pretty sure she tried to run me over with our squad car while I was on a foot pursuit today."</p><p>Sakura halfheartedly listens to Naruto's snickered reply—<em>"I'd run you over too, if I was stuck with your brooding ass for eight hours a day!"</em>—and drowns out the bickering that follows by surveying the bar once again out of habit. She soaks in the laughter and the smiles of the other patrons, chasing the tail ends of conversations she had no interest nor business hearing, and takes her time in tasting her cocktail this time, allowing the rim of the glass to hover against her lips but not actually sipping, just allowing her tongue to graze the drink's surface.</p><p>Her perusal of the place ceases as it reaches the bend of the other side of the bar, lingering particularly over a man tucked in the corner, nursing a snifter of something caramel. He stands out to her, not just because of the way the light from a nearby pool table hits his hair, or because of how nicely the distressed denim jacket draped over his shoulders compliments his complexion, but because of his <em>laugh</em>. It lifts over the prattle of the room, but not obnoxiously. It's warm and hearty and full of life, and no doubt makes his eyes crinkle at the corners. It makes her wish she could see more of his profile, because if his face matched the voice, she wanted nothing more than to wrap herself in his presence.</p><p>
  <em>The way he moved, it was a sin, so sweet and true.</em>
</p><p>He looks like he's made this dingy little bar his home, but so has she and Sakura can't recall ever seeing him there before. But then again, she never really paid attention to other people. She never has the time to when her friends were around, especially with Ino talking off her ear.</p><p>The stranger begins to swallow his chuckles with his drink—either whiskey or rum poured neat—and for the briefest of moments his gaze sweeps over her. At first, she doesn't think much of it but then he jerks and does a double-take and Sakura <em>knows </em>that he's looking at her now. She could hardly see the corner of his lips upturn from where she is across the bar, and it's partially hidden behind his glass, but she's still <em>mortified </em>for getting caught staring. He inclines his glass a little higher, just barely, but enough to reveal the rest of his smirk—<em>Black velvet and that little boy smile! Black velvet and that slow, southern style—</em> and then he's drawn into a conversation with his friends again.</p><p>Sakura returns the salute with the raising of her own drink and a half-bitten smile, part of her hoping he saw the hopeful invitation woven in it, but he returns to his conversation with his friends the moment he sips his drink. Disappointed, she swipes her fingers beneath her eye as she turns away, hoping that she could wipe away the heat from her cheeks and throws herself into whatever it was Naruto and Sasuke were arguing about. And then when Ino, Sai and Hinata show up, she keeps herself busy with them. She laughs and grins and brushes off their jokes about her being <em>"too busy for fun"</em>, teases them back and diverts the conversation away from her lacking love life to how cute Naruto and Hinata were together. But sometimes, when she thinks no one is looking, Sakura peers up over her friend's shoulder and steals as many glances at the stranger across the bar, as he does at her.</p><p>
  <em>Black velvet, if you please.</em>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <strong>Like A Glass of Whiskey</strong>
</p><p><em>Tennessee Whiskey </em>by Chris Stappleton</p>
<hr/><p>By 10 o' clock, she's had four drinks: her usual cocktail, two shots of Jack and a cheap domestic to chase. She doesn't usually drink so much in such a short amount of time, which she's sure Ino noticed, but its the only thing she could do to keep from fidgeting and searching the crowd for that handsome face.</p><p>Its ridiculous—childish even—the way her stomach knots and her chest tightens when she looks up just to find him diverting his gaze. She's a twenty-seven year old woman, many years past the days of fluttery, butterflies-in-the-stomach schoolyard crushes, so her heart <em>shouldn't </em>be racing like this. But it does.</p><p>Ino's going on about one of her coworkers, and Sakura is considering ordering another cocktail to settle the annoying fit of nerves when she sees the stranger stand up from his seat. Being <em>actually </em>invested in this conversation, Sakura doesn't think too much of it, but that doesn't keep her from watching him from the corner of her eye. With his drink in one hand, he claps the other against his friend's back then makes his way through the steady throng of patrons, with her in his trajectory. He has a certain way of walking, she notices, with his shoulders relaxed into a casual slouch and his steps even, all the confidence of a modern day Casanova but with a fraction of the arrogance; he walks as if his soul is playing a bluesy rock ballad that only he could hear—<em>You're as smooth as Tennessee whiskey.</em></p><p>When Sakura feels the back of her neck burn, she blames it on the alcohol, because there was <em>no way in hell </em>it's because of him.</p><p>She brings her near-empty pint to her lips and turns more fully to Hinata, hoping that it would help to hide the blush that begins to bleed across the apples of her cheeks. Her heart is racing, wild like a swing dancer at a lindyhop show, while her stomach seems to drop from where it's supposed to be. She feels numb and tingly and that—okay that <em>definitely </em>isn't because of the alcohol. Ino notices (because Ino always notices things like that) and peers over her shoulder at the man that's approaching, just to grin slyly at the rosette and run an encouraging hand down her arm before pulling a stunned Hinata outside <em>"for a cigarette"</em>.</p><p>She wants to thank Ino so, <em>so </em>much right now.</p><p>Playing off her nerves, Sakura leans against the bar and taps her finely manicured nails against her glass, openly eyeing the hunk of a man as he grows closer, wanting to burn his image into her memory for the rest of her life. His jaw is well-defined, clean shaven and squared, strong without traces of boyhood. His hair is a lovely shade of bourbon with some light streaks interwoven, but they're not quite pale enough to be blonde, and the dark browns dominate. He wears it in a boyish mop with strands tucked behind his ear and a bandanna tied at the front, but it somehow still falls into his face, and she can't help but wonder how it'd feel to comb her fingers through those glossy brunette locks. And his eyes—<em>oh, his eyes!</em>—they weren't just brown, but a deep sienna with a mischievous glint that seemed to reflect the corners of his mouth.</p><p>He's the kind of man she usually tries to avoid. Everything about him—from the toothpick nestled at the corner of his mouth, to the sexily disheveled hair, to the swagger of his walk, just screams <em>"just for fun, not for keeps"</em> but for some reason Sakura can't find it in herself to care. Not when his stare, which held such potent allusion to things far from innocent, greedily trailed over her like he wanted to throw her on top of the bar then and there.</p><p>Part of her wants to laugh aloud when she finally tunes into the song strumming through the jukebox—<em>You're as sweet as strawberry wine</em>—because it's so ironic and cliche that it's not even funny.</p><p>She feels him slide into the seat beside her, his knee brushing against her thigh so casually, it could have meant nothing, but she knows better. This close, she's enveloped by his cologne. He smells of mid-summer campfires and cedar, with a hint of cinnamon and top notes of cocoa and—<em>oh God </em>she just wants to draw her tongue against his neck to see if he tastes nearly as good as he smells.</p><p>"Hey," He hums, and Sakura swallows the breath that nearly escapes her lips because his voice <em>burns</em> her like an unexpected shot of Woodford Reserve. His timbre is low, with an agreeable trace of huskiness that taunts the already present spark below her navel. It reminds her of the whiskey she's been sipping on all night, in the sense that it's indulgent and warm, painting a trail of fire down her spine, and is a feeling she longs for at the end of a long shift. Impishly, Sakura wonders if he'd feel that good, too.</p><p>
  <em>You're as warm as a glass of brandy.</em>
</p><p>She waits for the cheesy pickup line, because guys like him <em>always </em>use one, but it never comes. He just stares expectantly, waiting just as patiently for her response by sipping on his drink. Sakura's tongue wets her lips, and she's pleased when his eyes lower to follow the movement.</p><p>"Hey yourself," She finally replies, amusement playing with her tone.</p><p>The toothpick in his mouth twitches, then is pushed to the other corner of his lips by the tip of his tongue, and Sakura hates to admit that she watched just as greedily as he had with her. He outstretches a hand to her in offering, palm laid flat rather than angled, still smiling as he says, "I'm Genma."</p><p>Sakura sets her hand in his, noticing instantly how much smaller her hand is compared to his, and how hot his surprisingly smooth skin is when pressed against hers. "Sakura."</p><p>His thumb folds over the top of her knuckles, then he draws her hand to his mouth, turning it over, and presses his lips to the underside of her wrist, all without breaking eye contact. Inwardly, Sakura curses to herself. There weren't butterflies in her stomach anymore. They're <em>lions </em>now. "Nice to meet you, Sakura."</p><p>
  <em>And Honey, I stay stoned on your love all the time.</em>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <strong>Like A Glass of Whiskey</strong>
</p>
<hr/><p>Genma notices her almost as soon as she takes up a seat at the bar. It isn't too difficult, seeing as how her hair is <em>pink </em>of all colors, but that's besides the point. She's a cute little thing, pretty, but not by standard terms. She's done up like a rockabilly pinup, complete with high waisted jeans rolled up her calves and a red flannel tied at the waist, her bangs rolled back at the crown of her head. All she needs is a leather jacket and a bright red bandanna to really tie the look together.</p><p>He doesn't pay much attention to her after that. Not at first.</p><p>Raido is beside him, tossing back shots of tequila like it's the only thing keeping him rooted to the world, while Iwashi goes on about some TV series he recently got into. The three of them absently watch the sports collaged along the wall, glassy eyes glancing over the muted liquor bottles that line the shelves every now and then out of habit, but still somehow knowing what's going on. Iwashi mentions something stupid—<em>"Remember when we rode that mountain board down Devil's Slide?"</em>—and it has nothing to do with the show he was talking about, but maybe that's what made it so funny? Still, Genma chuckles over his glass.</p><p>Raido snorts, shifting in his seat a little too clumsily. "My ass remembers."</p><p>They've relived this memory too many times to count, but it's still hilarious even after all these years so Genma laughs. He leans back, a hand gripping the counter and his head angled back, and <em>laughs</em> as if this is the first time he's heard the story. Maybe it's the spirits he's befriended tonight and that's why it's so funny, he doesn't care. When he finds his breath and reaches for his drink, he notices <em>her</em>, the Tough with the cotton candy hair, for the second time. She's eyeing him impishly, biting at the edge of a smile, and when he returns her look with a little heat of his own, her cheeks are overtaken by a flush of mirth. Cute.</p><p>He tries to act as if he doesn't notice the heated glances she throws at him from across the room. She isn't very subtle, but then again, maybe she isn't trying to be? His gaze often drifts to her without his permission, even when he's in the middle of a sentence, because he's struck by just how forward she is. It isn't until Raido says something, that he makes his move.</p><p>"You've got an admirer," His friend points out, leaning close and jutting his chin out in the girl's direction.</p><p>"She's a cute one," Iwashi agrees, although Genma wonders if his friend is actually aware of who they're talking about.</p><p>So Genma stands from his seat and claps his hand against Raido's back. "I'll see you guys later," He promises, and his friends coo and chuckle, wishing him luck. He saunters through the crowd, slowly, so he has time to think about the things he wants to say to her, and then the next thing he knows, he's sliding onto the bar stool beside her. He makes sure to brush against her as he sits, drinking in her features as greedily as he sips his drink. She has a soft face, a tiny, pointed nose, and full lips, with the most striking eyes he's ever seen. Her eyes contained all the hues of a forest, surrounded with dark moss and interwoven shades hiding the chaotic nature behind them. The earthy green pairs with her hair well—better than he ever thought it could—and suddenly, any other hair color on her doesn't seem <em>right</em>.</p><p>She's playing coy now, immersing herself into her drink, acting as if she isn't as interested in him as he was, her—as if she hadn't been eyeing him just as heatedly. But he knew better. Her perusal of him is too intense for her indifference. But when he talks to her, he sees her melt. And when he brushes his lips against her wrist, it takes a little too much strength to keep from drawing things out.</p><p>"How's your night going?" He doesn't use a pickup line on her. Not this time.</p><p>The edge of a pearly white tooth sinks into the corner of her vintage-rogue lips and Genma feels his lungs—and his jeans—tighten. "It's going alright so far," She answers, tucking a stray hair behind her ear. "How about yours?"</p><p>"Better now that you're here." She lets out a laugh that's more breath than sound and her eyes drift over the muted liquor bottles lining the wall. Taking the hint, Genma gestures to the frothy remnants of her beer. "Can I buy you a drink?"</p><p>She—<em>Sakura</em>—hums, then turns back to him. "Only if you're having one."</p><p>He downs the rest of his glass before she finishes her sentence, playfully exhaling and making a show of licking his lips, then raises a hand for the bartender. When he comes by, Genma sets his hand on the back of her stool. "I'll have another, and whatever she wants."</p><p>"I'll have my usual, please."</p><p>When the bartender walks off, a knowing smile on his familiar face, Genma quirks a brow at the rosette and rests his arms on the counter. Sakura turns to face him completely. "Your usual, huh?" He asks, amused. "You come here often?"</p><p>He doesn't mean to be so cheesy, but it flows out of his mouth before he could stop it and she doesn't seem adverse to it. "I was going to ask you the same thing," She admits with a small laugh. It's the kind of sound that brings back a million memories in a single second, and comes to him as a tickle and a bounce. She crosses one leg over the other, her knee brushing against the mountains of his knuckles with the movement; his stomach turns over while the muscles of his abdomen flutter.</p><p>"I'm here often enough," He admits. "But I don't think I've ever seen you here."</p><p>"I come by on Fridays or Saturdays." She gestures to her friends, who have moved on to commandeer a pool table. "We try to meet up at least once, otherwise my best friend, Ino, will throw a fit."</p><p>He hums, as if that had been the answer to everything. "I don't usually come by on weekends," He tells her. "I'm usually working late but my friends over there," He flicks a finger towards the men at the bend of the bar, "dragged me out tonight." He resolves to thank them later.</p><p>"It must be my lucky day then," She flirts while brushing aside the medium-length curls on her shoulder, and his focus instantly shifts to her slender neck. "So what do you do for work?"</p><p>He's so focused on the expanse of her neck, of how much he wants to ravage it with his tongue, his teeth, his lips, that it takes him a moment longer than necessary to register her question. "Hmm? Oh, I work for the National Park," He replies. "I patrol the area, arrest drunk teenagers, aid in rescue operations—stuff like that."</p><p>Sakura tilts her head to the side, a curious glint in her eye. "Oh yeah? One of my friends works for Konoha Ridge. His name's Kakashi."</p><p>He blinks, surprise written on his face at the information. "Kakashi?" He laughs, his chin inclined and his hand rapping against his thigh once. "We work together," He affirms when she asks if he knew him. "We've been friends ever since I could remember. He uh, he plays baseball with us every weekend."</p><p>"You play baseball?"</p><p>Their drinks come before he can reply, a double shot of Wild Turkey for him and a cocktail for her, and they gently tap their glasses against one another's, their eyes lost in each other's. He doesn't look away, even as he sips his drink, or as he sets his credit card in the barkeep's hand. Strangely, it feels as if her gaze brings out the flavors of his spirit. The softness of her hair compliments the vanilla, the mossy hue of her eyes contrasts with the maple and the cinnamon; while the sugar in her smile clashes with the oaky spice that lingers on his tongue.</p><p>"What's your poison?" He asks, once they've both set their glasses down.</p><p>"What do you think?" She returns, canting her head almost challengingly. He knows she's testing him somehow, waiting to read between the lines of his answer, because maybe this is her way of getting to know him?</p><p>He shifts in his seat, moving closer so his knees are flush against hers. She doesn't move away, but she also doesn't move closer. Genma hums in consideration, raking his eyes over her body again <em>just because, </em>then he guesses, "Rum."</p><p>Sakura chuckles at that. "I do like Mai Tais, but nope."</p><p>"Damn." He snaps his fingers in mock disappointment. "Can I guess again?" When she nods, Genma leans forward, so close that the ends of her hair tickles his neck and all he can smell, feel, <em>taste</em>, is her. Her scent consists of everything good: like watermelon and freshly scented pine and honey, with just a hint of nutmeg. Nothing flowery or overly artificial. And he wants nothing more than to sink his teeth into her to get the full bite of her taste. He wonders if she'll be sweet going down, like Slow &amp; Low, or if she'll warm him up like a Hot Toddy. He feels more than hears her breath shatter as it fans across his neck, and in it, he just barely catches something herbal and peppered with a buttery spice.</p><p>Sakura sucks in a breath at the proximity, all too conscious of the hand that smoothly settles on her knee, and she's terrified that her heart will grow wings and fly away with how erratically it's fluttering. She tries to steady her heartbeat, but she knows he's already caught her nervousness.</p><p>When he finally leans away from her, Genma smirks, but doesn't remove his hand from her knee. "Whiskey," He declares, confidently, and he's rewarded with a wide smile. "I should've known." He taps the side of his snifter to emphasize his statement.</p><p>Her skin burnishes with a blush, but she easily brushes it off as if she's done it a thousand times before. "So what's your poison?" She asks now, and he doesn't think she means liquor.</p><p>Genma feels her thigh tremble beneath his fingers when his thumb slides across its width, settling atop her kneecap. And so he says with such a polished, wolfish smirk, "You."</p>
<hr/><p>
  <strong>Like A Glass of Whiskey</strong>
</p><p><em>Breathe </em>by Faith Hill</p>
<hr/><p>The moment his lips press against hers, Sakura knows she's in trouble.</p><p>As expected, his kiss isn't innocent, like a tease, but fiery and passionate and full of tongue and teeth. There aren't any sparks or fireworks or jolts of electricity in his breath, but concentrated waves of molten lava that courses down her throat and into her toes. Its full of promises of realness, of the primal desire that romance novels try so hard to depict but somehow always mess up. She knew right away that she would be addicted because like everything else about him, his kiss tastes like a well aged bottle of rye.</p><p>
  <em>I can feel you breathe. It's washing over me, and suddenly I'm melting into you.</em>
</p><p>His fingertips, as light as they were, scorched the back of her neck as he grasped her almost possessively. But she doesn't mind one bit.</p><p>Sakura splays her petite hands across his chest, thumbs drawing circles that made him groan against her lips appreciatively, then they start rushing to every inch of his body she could reach. She traces the crevices of his abdomen, his sides, dipping beneath his gray cotton shirt as she reached around his back, and he does the same, stroking the incurve of her waist and tickling the small of her back. Once she's caressed every bit that she could, Sakura hooks her fingers over the waistband of his jeans and abruptly yanks him closer, stepping back until her back presses up against large mirror situated against the bathroom wall. Its a tacky thing, with faux gold leaves and swirls, but its perfect for bathroom selfies and debauched romps against the wall.</p><p>He's a vocal one, she quickly discovers when she <em>feels</em> more than <em>hears</em> him moan against her lips, and the realization only spills oil on the flames. Her knees quake and her shoulders tremble and <em>God </em>every little bit of her is on <em>fire</em>.</p><p>She'd be lying if she said she hadn't expected—or wanted—this. They'd been engrossed in each other all night, dancing from one topic to the next and skirting around the tension that swirled around them until the knot it formed finally grew too tight, too impossible to untangle. So when her friends began spilling out of the bar, saying their goodbyes to the bartender and the other regulars in the building, Sakura knew she had to leave him with more than just her phone number.</p><p>
  <em>Caught up in the touch, a slow and steady rush.</em>
</p><p>When he pulls away from her lips, she whimpers at the loss and drags her nails against his abdomen, light enough to be playful but hard enough to convey her displeasure. It goes away quickly, however, when he kisses her neck. They're just a few delicate touches at first, as if he wants to take things slow and savor her taste, but then they grow harder and more urgent with each additional brush of skin.</p><p>The moment her lips press against his, Genma knows he's addicted.</p><p>He tastes the whiskey on her breath, chased only a moment later by the sugar from that cocktail she's been sipping on. Normally, he'd find it to be a crime to tarnish something as tried and true as Jameson, but the hard taste is still on her tongue when they kiss. He could feel the burn drowning his throat, so he supposed a little sugar was okay. All he feels is warmth and want and <em>chaos</em>, and it shakes him to his very core because he's never tasted anything this intoxicating before. His whole body loosens at her touch, basking in a sense of comfort he hadn't felt in far too long. He wants to leave marks all over her neck, her chest, her shoulders, just to look at them and please his ego, but he resists as best as he could.</p><p>A story was communicated in that first kiss—<em>baby, isn't that the way that love's supposed to be?</em></p><p>He sucks on her collarbone, lightly, then draws his tongue against the blushing flesh, and he preens to himself when Sakura hums in anticipation. Her hands slide from his shoulders to cup the back of his neck, where her thumbs rub encouraging circles at the joint just below his ears. It sends pleasured shivers between his shoulder blades and strokes the embers of his excitement, and to show his appreciation, Genma pushes as close to her as he possibly could, until there's no such thing as space between them.</p><p>Its almost time for last call and she was leaving. Her friends were outside, waiting for her, and his friends are probably waiting for him too but he couldn't leave without at least this. Apparently she felt the same way, because <em>she's</em> the one who pulled <em>him </em>into the bathroom, but he didn't mind that <em>at all</em>.</p><p>He can hear drunken laughter overpowering the jukebox, can feel the pulsations of the bass through the wall—<em>I can feel you breathe</em>—and someone's banging on the door. He knows she needs to go but the rest of the world just seems insignificant in this moment. All there is, is him and Sakura, and the unfiltered passion that swirled around them.</p><p>He whispers kisses along the neck, just as he had imagined doing earlier in the night, caressing her jaw with his lips and cup of her bra with his fingers, then reclaims her swollen lips again. He wants to go further, to touch in her places and in ways that she'll never forget, but he also wants more than that. He wants to inhale her, to wrap his arms around her and never let go, as cliche as that sounds. He wants to be sober for it, so he can recall the memory on harsher days. And when they finally pull away from each other, their heavy breaths mingling, she wipes at the barely smeared lipstick at the corner of her lips and he knows without a doubt that, that's what she wants too.</p><p>He's been drunk thousands of times before, but never like this.</p>
<hr/><p>
  <strong>Like A Glass of Whiskey</strong>
</p>
<hr/><p>For the next few days, Sakura waits anxiously. Every time her phone lights up or her text notification chimes, she's quick to check it for any sign of him, just to deflate in disappointment when it's not his name on her screen. Part of her is embarrassed for hanging on so tightly to this thread that trails behind him, and that side of her is quick to mock her for keeps herself busy with work and keeps up with gossip with the girls. It feels a lot longer than just three days and she deletes a letter from his name for every day that passes, because any man too afraid to text her first isn't worth the effort. Two more days, and his number is gone, never to be seen again.</p><p>And she <em>dreads</em> doing it.</p><p>Because every time the thought rears it's ugly head, memories of that night swarm her, blocking out any other train of thought and constricts her chest in a semblance of heartbreak that isn't quite rational. In those moments, she remembers playing pool; about how he had blanketed her with his body to <em>"</em><em>help her line up her shot". </em>It was a poor excuse at copping a feel, but she hadn't minded at all. She likes the woods that scents him, and when he's that close, she swears she can see a sky full of stars, peering through indigo skies and eucalyptus canopies. Then she remembers that lopsided grin of his when their game came to a close, and the unmistakable flicker of <em>admiration </em>in those eyes she adores so much when she beat him, fair and square.</p><p>"Are you still hung up over that guy?" Ino asks, when she notices Sakura glance at her phone for the fifth time since they've sat down. They're having lunch at their favorite diner, just as they always do on Monday afternoons. Sakura wants to feel bad for being so distracted, but she plays it off well.</p><p>"What guy?" Karin asks between pecks at her fries.</p><p>Ino goes on about that night, sparing no minuscule detail and teasing Sakura about how obvious she was, and how she knew the rosette had snuck off with him right before they left that night. Usually, Sakura rolls her eyes and dismisses the overly embellished retellings of her night, but instead, she finds herself lost in the memory of <em>him </em>yet again—of the way he looked at her with such heat and unfiltered appreciation, of how warm his hands were against her skin.</p><p>In particular, she recalls how he tried teaching her how to throw darts that night. She wasn't very good at it, while he seemed to hit a bullseye every single time; and with each hit mark and every subsequent pout, the arrogance in his smirk would thicken a little <em>too </em>attractively. But he was patient with her, enveloping her form with his taller, leaner one again, surrounding her with redwoods and campfires, pressing his muscled chest against her back so intimately that she was <em>sure </em>he had felt her shiver. Because she felt <em>his</em>.</p><p>If he ever asks, she'll never admit that she knew how to play, or that she wasn't as bad as she seemed. She'll let him have that moment, because she likes the passion he shows when he teaches her.</p><p>So when her screen lights up and she sees his name flash across the screen—<em>What are you doing Thursday afternoon?</em>—all she could do to hide her smile is bite down on her lips. And even then, Ino and Karin notice. Because they <em>always </em>notice.</p>
<hr/><p>
  <strong>Like A Glass of Whiskey</strong>
</p>
<hr/><p>Contrary to what everyone seems to believe, Genma doesn't do things half assed.</p><p>Whether it be his job, his lunch or his comebacks, he sees everything through to the end <em>with feeling</em>. That goes for his dates, too<em>.</em></p><p>It had taken him the better part of three days and a lot of silent grumbling to figure out what he wanted to do, and if he was being completely honest, those two and a half minutes between his text and Sakura's response were the <em>longest </em>two and a half minutes of his life. Although, maybe not as long as the subsequent three days it took for Thursday to come around.</p><p>Its almost one o' clock now and he has to leave to pick her up in a few minutes but he'd be lying if he said the butterflies in his stomach weren't persuasive. His focus is scattered, so filled with combustive anticipation that he nearly passes her door, and its so embarrassing that he bites at his thumbnail to keep from mumbling to himself. In truth, he can't recall the last time he was so excited over a <em>date</em>—not since an ex from a year ago. At thirty-two years old, he's had his fair share of dates and debauched hookups, so really, it shouldn't have riled him up so much. But it did. And his roommates think its <em>hilarious</em>.</p><p>"Who would've thought <em>you </em>of all people would get so nervous about <em>a date</em>?" Raido had laughed a few nights before, over hot dogs and beer.</p><p>"I don't think I've ever seen you so worked up over a girl," Iwashi tacked on a moment later. "It's not like you're getting married."</p><p>They had been relentless in their teasing, asking why he bothered spending so much time on a date. He had laughed the off with a dry, mirthless chuckle that was more caustic than playful, and deftly changed topics, just as he always did when they'd poke fun at him. It wouldn't stop his two best friends from bringing it up with whoever else they came across in those unnaturally long three days.</p><p>"<em>That's </em>what you're wearing to your date?" Raido asks when Genma steps into the kitchen. He's dressed in a white hockey jersey with teal and black accents, the gaping mouth of a shark emblazoned across his chest and the number 89 on his back, and some clean wranglers. He doesn't see what's wrong with it, considering his plan for the day. "You look like you're going to a hockey game."</p><p>She had mentioned that she loved hockey, that her favorite team is the Kirigakure Sharks and what a coincidence—its his, too.</p><p>"That's because we are," He replies. Genma pries the freezer door open and plucks the fifth of Fireball from the rack. He normally holds the cinnamon whiskey an arms length away, but when it washes over his tongue, cool and refreshing and <em>warm in his chest</em>, he's reminded of <em>her</em>, so he's greedy in his gulps.</p><p>"You're gonna take a chick to a hockey game?" Raido reiterates incredulously, as if the idea is the most ridiculous thing in the world. For one heart-stopping moment, Genma has second thoughts, but he waves it away almost as quickly as it appears. He knows what he's doing.</p><p>The drive to her address isn't very long, but according to the rhythm of his heartbeat, its too short. Part of Genma wishes he had waited a little longer before knocking on her door, that he had waited in the car for a little longer or walked up her stairs a little slower; that she would have taken a little longer to answer. Because when Sakura opens the door, dressed in a teal hockey jersey and black and teal athletic socks over black leggings and pulled up to the knee, the knot of the bandanna in her hair sticking out like rabbit ears, <em>he isn't ready</em>.</p><p>"Hey," Sakura greets, shutting the door behind her. He doesn't have flowers to gift her or any chocolates to bribe her with, but she doesn't seem to expect them. But maybe next time, he'll bring some. "You're a little earlier than I expected."</p><p>The smirk that tugs at Genma's lips comes naturally and makes all the anxiety resting on his shoulders disappear. He pulls her forward, plants a kiss to the crown of her head, and he has to admit he loves the way blush looks on her. "I know. I guess I just couldn't wait to see you."</p><p>Whether its out of nervousness or out of habit, the rosette laughs him off.</p><p>When he leads her to his pickup, Genma opens her door and helps her in with a hand outstretched, waits until she pulls her seatbelt across her chest before he shuts the door, because his Ma raised him right. And because he likes the way her hand fits in his, but he'll never tell her that.</p>
<hr/><p>
  <strong>Like A Glass of Whiskey</strong>
</p>
<hr/><p>Their first date isn't like the ones in the rom-coms she and Ino divulge in from time to time. She doesn't spend hours preening behind a mirror and squeezing into a tight, red dress, or tending to pouty, dramatic makeup. She doesn't sing along to love songs or mitigate her nerves with a glass of wine. They don't have idle chit chat about their interests over awkward tension and a plate of pasta that's too bland for the price. And they don't sit through a movie neither of them wanted to see for an hour and a half.</p><p>Its full of flashing lights and a roaring crowd, and adrenaline that's so potent, she knows she'll feel it in her bones even hours after its ended. They share a plate of nachos, dressed up with all the fixings, and chase it with overpriced beers in plastic cups, jumping out of their seats to cheer and boo with the rest of the stadium as burly men throw each other against ice and glass.</p><p>And its <em>perfect</em>.</p><p>Their conversations are light and animated, because most of their talks of the past were over and done with the night they met at the bar. There isn't much silence between them, as its filled with cheesy jokes that make her snort and stories of Naruto that make Genma say, <em>"No shit?"</em></p><p>Sakura leaps out of her seat when the horn blows, knocking into Genma's hand and nearly spilling his drink. She apologizes but she's more focused on the fact that her favorite player, Kisame Hoshigaki, sailed the puck into the goal after it bounced off of the goalie's own skate.</p><p>He just laughs at her as he sips at his beer, then joins her on his feet with as much fervor a moment later when Kiri's Mangetsu Hozuki and Kumo's Killer Bee drop their gloves and face off in front of the Kumo bench. The rest of the team erupts in a flurry of fists, the linesmen hovering between scrimmages and pulling away dance partners that have buckled on their skates. And as much as Genma loves a good ol' scrum between enforcers, his focus is on Sakura.</p><p>When she first told him that she was a hockey fan, he was skeptical. People say things like that, embellish their interests, when they talk. He knows because he's done it. But when she went on about plays from 1984 between shots of Jack and handfuls of bar mix, and pointed out statistics of players he hadn't thought about in years, Genma knew he would regret it if he didn't take her to a game.</p><p>He likes how passionate she is, how unafraid she is of the world—<em>admires</em> it really. And its when she's chattering on and on about how ridiculously stupid the refs are—<em>"Who the fuck gets thrown out of a game for </em>fighting<em>!?" </em>and <em>"That's hooking</em><em>—what do you </em>mean <em>no call!? Are you </em>blind<em>!? Use your </em>eyes <em>you piece of shit Zebra!"</em>—that Genma realizes he could drink in her words like a strong wine and enjoy feeling tipsy.</p>
<hr/><p>
  <strong>Like A Glass of Whiskey</strong>
</p><p><em>I Want to Know What Love Is </em>by Foreigner</p>
<hr/><p>They're stumbling down the sidewalk amid the herd of teal and white jerseys. Her shoulder collides with his arm, her temple brushes his skin, his hand is comfortable against the curve of her waist. They're not even drunk—sobered up hours ago—but they can't stop laughing.</p><p>The heat of chicken wings spice their tongues, dulling the crisp tang of cider that the sports bar served them, and the ice cream they fought over made their skins cold. Sakura uses that as her excuse for being so close to him, although based on the way Genma's holding her, on how his hand slides away from her hip to lace with hers, she's pretty sure she doesn't need one.</p><p>The bout ended hours ago, with another win under their team's belt and a handful of penalties, but the rush is still there, rekindled by the recaps that played on the TV screens from the sports bar. But the mood is different. Its every bit as comfortable as it had been all night, filled with teasing brushes of skin and kittenish smiles, the playful toeing of each other's shoes under the table; however every flirty glance and nervous nibble of lips twists the air around them into intricate knots that both know their fingers won't be able to undo.</p><p>As soon as he shuts the car door behind her, Sakura makes herself comfortable. She adjusts her seat, pushes it closer towards the glove compartment, reclines back slightly. She only has ten seconds alone before he slides into the driver's seat, and in those ten seconds, she's trying to focus on everything except her heartbeat.</p><p>The interior of the truck is clean, and not the typical <em>"</em><em>I've got a date" </em>clean, or type of clean that comes from a car enthusiast. It's the kind of clean that comes with practice, that's habitual, with a touch of life in the form of stray pennies in the center console's cup holder and a couple of stray jackets balled up in the backseat. It smells like him—like timber and thousand-foot mountains, campfires on a summer night—and she knows she has to be careful because they had only just met, but her heart knows what it wants.</p><p>He glances at her as he slides into his seat, and when she catches his gaze, he bites his smirk, making the toothpick between his lips bob. "Ready to go?"</p><p>At her nod, the truck comes to life with a purr, joined soon thereafter with the chorus of some Iron Maiden song<em>.</em> The music doesn't surprise her in the slightest, although she had pinned him as the Lynyrd Skynyrd type, but she doesn't mind it. She likes the song.</p><p>They pull out of the parking space and they turn the corner, and to be honest, it's a little awkward. There's no more fans around them to keep them busy or fights to laugh over. Just each other, and the anticipation that <em>sings </em>to them. She wants to say something to break the tension that rages between them, but her mind—and her heart—are moving at a hundred miles an hour. But she doesn't have to, because when she chances a glance at him, sees how relaxed and pleased he is, it's as if that nervousness never existed. She doesn't feel pressured to be cutesy and the right amount of perfect. She feels...light.</p><p>They roll into a stop the next light; leather creaks, and a Foreigner song takes over the speakers—<em>I want to know what love is</em>—and his voice cuts through the trills of the song's keyboard. "Hey, Sakura?"</p><p>And when Sakura turns to him, Genma's already <em>gazing</em> at her and it takes every ounce of her breath away.</p><p>
  <em>I want you to show me.</em>
</p><p>And he kisses her. His lips are dry, that last minute lick he gave them hardly doing much to moisten them but Sakura can't find it in herself to care. The way he kisses her is different this time. Its all sugar and tenderness and confidence, with just a dash of timidity; no tongue, just lips moving against one another in a whisper. But it made those lions in her chest roar all the same. She doesn't realize her hands had moved until they're entangled in his hair, and her nails graze his scalp and he <em>sighs </em>so pleasurably that she only vaguely remembers that she needs to breathe but she <em>can't</em>.</p><p>The brushing of his tongue is so gentle against her lower lip, that Sakura swears she just imagined it. She can hear his breath just as much as she can feel it against her lips, and it makes her <em>greedy</em>. She wants more, wants to breathe him in and sink her fingers into the soil that is <em>him</em>, until her nails scrape against his soul—<em>I want to feel what love is. </em></p><p>A car honks angrily behind them, and its honestly the only reason they pull apart, because if she had it her way, Sakura would become <em>one</em> with his lips. And based on the smirk they've curled into, he feels the same way.</p><p>And when he sets his hand on her knee, entertwines his fingers with her own, her heart doesn't know what to do with itself—<em>I know you can show me.</em></p>
<hr/><p>
  <strong>Like A Glass of Whiskey</strong>
</p>
<hr/><p>Its only when they're in front of her door, that they unfurl the ribbons that keep their suspense in check.</p><p>They'd only said a few words to one another—</p><p>
  <em>"I had a great time."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"If you thought this was fun, just wait til you see what I've got planned for the next one."</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"You think there will be another?"</em>
</p><p><em>"Baby, I've got the next </em>five<em> planned out."</em></p><p>—and then her hands twist into the front of his shirt, where she drags him up against her, kisses him with such intent that it honestly nearly knocks him off his feet.</p><p>There's no demure demeanor or nervous brushes of lips. Just fire and ice and falling stars. Its the anticipation of being together in a way that's more than words, in a way that's completely tangible. Her heart flutters inside her chest. Their breaths mingle. Despite this, its a delicate butterfly of a kiss full of caramel and honey and white chocolate. Her hands splay across his chest, slide up to his shoulders, cup the sides of his face; she touches him with greedy fingers because she wants to be sure he's <em>real</em>.</p><p>Then his arms encircle her and the sugar melts, dissolving into the scalding coffee that flavors his passion. In the split second after his touch, every nerve in her body and brain is <em>electrified</em>. His essence is potent, commanding and <em>God </em>she'll to uproot whole worlds just so this feeling could go on forever. It drives her crazy how instantaneous intoxication is with him, because <em>it's just not</em> <em>fair</em>. But she doesn't realize that he <em>feels the same way</em>.</p><p>Her back presses against the door and the moan he purrs into her mouth makes her shudder. His tongue draws along the seam of her lips in encouragement, and with the brushing of her tongue against his, Genma realizes that out of all the spirits he's made his friend, she's his favorite brand.</p><p>He feels like he's thirteen again, naive and inexperienced, fooling around with his first crush beneath the bleachers. He loves the eagerness in the way she moves against him. He's <em>in love </em>with the way she deepens their story with her teeth and the tugging of his hair, and <em>holy shit </em>his chest hurts and he <em>can't breathe. </em>He cracks his eyes open just to get a glimpse at what romances are written across her face and he nearly <em>crumbles </em>when her lashes lift just enough to reveal slivers of lusty jade.</p><p>She wants him—all of him. And he wants her too.</p><p>But he pulls away, forces himself to really, because honestly he wants nothing more than to wrap himself in the garland that is her lust but this isn't the time. She looks like she's about to protest or ask him if she did something wrong, but Genma merely brushes her hair out of her face, whispers a kiss against her lips, and says, "I'll pick you up Sunday, eight o' clock."</p><p>And when she smiles at him, so soft and genuine, Genma gives in. He gives her one last earth shattering kiss that <em>she </em>pulls away from. "Don't be late," She flirts, and with one last wink, she disappears into her apartment.</p><p>When he stumbles into his living room twenty minutes later, his roommates are surprised. "Didn't work out?" Iwashi asks.</p><p>Genma doesn't say anything. He can't, because he feels like if he does, his voice will shatter. He just grins to himself, humming, and saunters into the kitchen. He ignores the way Raido eyes him, pries open the freezer and pulls out the frosted over bottle of Fireball. He drinks it, greedily, until there's nothing left of it because again, it reminds him of <em>her</em>.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>And we're finally back with the second part of this cute little fic. I've been so busy with work, since I've been called back, that I haven't had the time to work on any of my fics. I hate it, but there's nothing I can really do until the government issues another Shelter in Place order. I'm just glad I got to finish it in time for Genma Weekend! I went into overdrive trying to finish this chapter and start the next one, as well as working on a few other GenSaku oneshots, and one major GenSaku fic, which is called Home.</p><p>So for you GenSaku lovers out there, check out the note at the bottom to get a better idea of what I've got coming up! I hope you guys will check them out when they're up and posted! Anyway, I know I said this fic is going to be a 3-part series, but I decided to add a fourth part too tie up the fic properly. But I don't think any of you will object to that. At least, I hope. So, without further ado, here's chapter two of Like A Glass of Whiskey.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong> <br/></strong>
</p><hr/><p>
  <strong>Like A Glass of Whiskey</strong>
</p><p><em>To Be With You </em>by Mr. Big</p><hr/><p>She's cancelled on him twice this week.</p><p>Normally, Genma isn't the type to fret over a skipped date. He's been through this routine enough times in his life to be able to brush it off and move on without a <em>blink</em>. But he doesn't want to with Sakura. He knows its not her fault, that she's actually busy and not just trying to duck out of another date with him.</p><p><em>Work's been crazy</em>, She's told him at least four times, and he can hear the exhaustion clearly in her voice, even in her texts. She tells him all about the headaches of her shift, of the long hours, the customers she's had to talk down and the employees she's fed up with, so he <em>knows</em> she isn't avoiding him. He understands better than anyone, so he won't hold it against her. But that also doesn't mean it doesn't <em>hurt</em>.</p><p>
  <em>I'm the one who wants to be with you.</em>
</p><p>He hasn't seen her since their first date, hasn't felt the softness of her skin or tasted the romance on her lips, and while it may not seem like it to others, Genma <em>loves </em>physical affection. Craves it, actually. Its important to him and strokes the flames of male pride within him when he gets to run his fingers over her knuckles and press his lips against her neck. He likes being able to thread his fingers in her hair and gaze into that redwood forest that she calls eyes, because those eyes of hers take him back to days of campfires and drunken summers.</p><p>If he can't have that, it won't work.</p><p>And he <em>wants </em>it to work with Sakura so, <em>so </em>bad—<em>Deep inside I hope you feel it, too</em>.</p><p>Because even though they haven't seen each other much, he hears her voice on a daily basis. Even if its only for five minutes or an hour, even if it makes him feel like he's thirteen again, its enough for him. If his friends saw him now, fussing with the tangles in his hair, contemplating the placement of his bandana and fidgeting with his keys, they'd tease him for it, call him <em>love sick</em>, but he doesn't agree with that at all. To say he's <em>sick</em> would imply he doesn't like the effect she has on him.</p><p>Because despite what his friends seem to think, he likes the romance. Sex is fun, sure; he'd probably never say no to a night of debauched romance, of nails carving down his back and legs around his hips—<em>especially </em>if its with <em>her</em>—but he wants more than that. He likes the passion, and how just one kiss bathes him in summer rays, regardless of the season. He likes how he can feel her touch in his chest, making its way down his spine and his stomach, scorching him like cinnamon liqueur.</p><p>Because like a glass of the world's finest whiskey, Sakura is hard and strong, difficult to find; and she burns his throat as she drowns him.</p><p>So no, he's not sick. He's <em>love drunk</em>.</p><hr/><p>
  <strong>Like A Glass of Whiskey</strong>
</p><hr/><p>She's already tired, and she still has eight hours left on this God-forsaken shift.</p><p>She was supposed to be off at three, home by three-thirty and ready to meet Genma for whatever he had planned by five; but that was all before Moegi called out sick. She tried calling Shizune to cover, Udon and Tenten, too, but her attempts were fruitless. And that meant she wouldn't be off until eight-thirty—which, isn't too late considering she's off tomorrow, but Genma isn't, and besides that, twelve hours is too long of a shift to recover from.</p><p>So when she calls him on her fifteen-minute break to reschedule <em>again</em>, Sakura feels <em>terrible.</em></p><p>She hopes he understands, prays that he doesn't think she's ghosting him or trying to string him along; because the thought of never seeing him again makes her chest <em>hurt</em>. But she's lucky with him, she knows, because he doesn't yell, doesn't grunt or sigh or complain. He just pauses, reassures her—<em>"Hey, its okay. You're still off on Thursday, right? Let's go out then."</em>—and promises he isn't upset. The disappointment in his voice tugs at her heart, but that ache disappears almost immediately as he starts talking about what he's going to do instead.</p><p>He's playful about it—<em>"I guess I'll just take Raido out for dinner since you're so busy."</em><em>—</em>and he teases her—<em>"I'll send you pictures of my steak. We can pretend you're there."</em></p><p>And she's thankful for that because she wants and wants and <em>wants </em>him to stick around—<em>Deep inside I hope you feel it, too</em>.</p><p>They had chat through her entire break (and a little over, but damn it, she deserves that extra few minutes), and it would be a bold-faced lie if Sakura said she wasn't even a little sad to say goodbye. She had been looking forward to this since their last date, had missed the pine needles and the molten anticipation that comes in that half-second before his touch. She has no idea what the plan was (beyond dinner, apparently), but she doesn't care. She just wants to be <em>there, </em>with him.</p><p>Sakura is pulled from her thoughts as she notices Konohamaru making his way towards her. She plasters a smile on her face, fighting off the fatigue as he moves to the first register. "You're back?" She asks, glancing at the clock on the screen.</p><p>"Yup!" He replies, accompanied by the chirp of the time-clock as he punches back in.</p><p>Her shoulders loosen and she exhales in relief. "Good. I'll be going on my lunch, then. Think you guys will be okay for an hour?"</p><p>The teen waves a hand dismissively, rolling his eyes as he takes up his perch on the second register, which a tonsured customer immediately strolls up to. "We'll be fine. Go take your lunch, Bosslady."</p><p>Her hesitance is purely for show, but she plays the part well, taking her time in backing away from her counter and setting her clipboard down. She waits for Konohamaru to throw a pen at her before she whirls around to punch out, but she falters, nearly stumbling as she finds herself pinned by glazed caramel. "Genma!"</p><p>He grins at her, head canted just slightly and chin angled up almost smugly, the toothpick nestled at the edge of his lips quirked with mischief. He leans forward against the counter, drawing her attention to the veins in his arms and the muscles of his chest, all neatly wrapped up in an army green shirt with the sleeves rolled up, the buttons at the collar undone to reveal a tantalizing hint of skin that makes her want to remember the taste of him. The tip of his tongue appears, pushing his toothpick to the other corner of his lips as he hums an amused, "Hey."</p><p>She doesn't mean to be so obvious, but with him, she finds its hard not to be. He's handsome from the depth of his eyes, to the gentle expressions of his voice; from the way that shade of green brings out the warmth in his skin tone, to the way his gaze <em>devours </em>her just as fervently as hers does him. She doesn't look anywhere near as good as he does right now, with her blush pink button-down a little wrinkled from movement and her black jeans smudged with dust, looking like a frazzled Tough back from a run.</p><p>Yet, he still looks at her as if she were dressed to the nines—as if she were in the most stunning, little black dress in the world.</p><p>Nervously, Sakura smooths her fly-aways behind her ear, wipes her palms against her pulsating thighs. "What are you doing here?"</p><p>Genma outstretches a hand towards her in offering, waiting patiently for her to take it, and when she does, he tugs her closer, presses his lips against the underside of her wrist without tearing his attention away. And <em>G</em><em>od</em>, does that make her <em>melt.</em> "I'm here for our date."</p><p>Furrowing her brows, Sakura takes her lower lip between her teeth and glances around the store, blatantly ignoring the curious (and prying) looks from her coworkers. Without immediately realizing it, their fingers lace together, and when she <em>does </em>notice, she knows she's in <em>danger. </em>"I thought..." Her voice is more breath than sound, "But I'm working..."</p><p>He leads her towards the first register with a small huff of amusement. "You just said you're going on lunch, right? For an hour?" He asks, and when she nods, he continues. "I know you said you'll be too tired for our date tonight, and as much of a good time as I'm sure Raido would've been," Sakura snorts at that, "I figured I might as well take the date to you."</p><p>She can't help the smile that tugs at her lips. "You sure Raido won't mind being stood up?"</p><p>His chuckle ensnares her, envelops her like a blanket just like it had the first time she heard it, and it strokes pleasant memories within her. She imagines that women line up for miles just to hear it, its so rich and light, so she counts herself lucky for being at the front of the line. His shoulders shrug, thumb smoothing over the palm of her hand as if to bribe her into joining him. "He might cry. But he'll get over it."</p><p>She doesn't hesitate now. Her fingers fly over the keyboard to the time-clock, and she doesn't even wait to hear the monitor chime in acceptance before she's following him out the door.</p><p>They only have an hour together, and sharing a takeout box of chicken parmesean and carbonara in the bed of his truck, in the middle of the parking lot, isn't exactly what most would constitute as a date. But its the fact that the bed of his pickup is full of blankets and pillows, and a cooler with cold drinks, and that he bought a slice of cake from the town's most loved bakery, that made it so perfect to her. So they chat the entire time, their conversation jumping from her brunch date with Ino and the mimosas they sipped on over hashed browns and over-easy eggs, to where he bought their dinner, and somehow it ignites a conversation about what restaurants serve the best breakfast in town, and embarrassing tales of their respective best friends.</p><p>"Its not much," He says later, when his fingers absently toy with the collar of her blouse, and Sakura can't help but lean her head onto his shoulder. They watch the gulls swim across the impossibly blue sky, towards the beach two blocks down, listen to the soft guitar strumming from the radio—<em>I'm the one one who wants to be with you</em>—and when she <em>breathes</em>, its all <em>him. </em>All cocoa and oak and mountain ranges. His lips press against the side of her head, gently, affectionately, and it makes her chest tighten. "And this isn't how I wanted to do dinner with you, but I promise the next date will be better."</p><p>Her lips quirk into a smile. "You think there will be another?"</p><p>The arm around her shoulders tightened, bringing Sakura closer to Genma's side. "I mean, we've still got four more dates left."</p><p>"Left until what?"</p><p>He presses a kiss to the tip of her ear and she can feel his smirk, his teeth grazing, and its the only warning about his cheekiness she has. "Until you fall in love with me."</p><p>So as her cheeks smolder and her belly undulates at the sheer <em>confidence </em>Genma radiates, the lions in her chest roar, Sakura can only think that honestly, she doesn't care for better—<em>I waited on a line of greens and blues, just to be the next to be with you</em>—Because nothing is better than this.</p><hr/><p>
  <strong>Like A Glass of Whiskey</strong>
</p><hr/><p>"You lucky bitch."</p><p>Sakura's attention flickers back up to Ino, who's brows are furrowed into something akin to annoyance, her nose twisted slightly and lips tugged towards one side. Her arms are crossed over her chest, sharp, lavender nails tapping against her forearm, but Sakura knows the anger is all faux. She grins behind her glass of wine, not even bothering to hide the smugness from her expression as Ino huffs. The blonde is a sucker for romance, with her fiance easily one of the most unromantic people to ever exist, so Sakura couldn't help but brag about her latest impromptu date. That's what best friends do, after all.</p><p>"You <em>lucky </em>bitch," Ino repeats with more of a wistful whine to her voice. "I <em>hate </em>you so much."</p><p>Beside her, Karin snorts but Sakura is more than aware of the jealousy simmering in her adverted stare while Tenten sighs and Hinata smiles in that soft way of hers. The latter's hand settles gently on her knee "I'm happy for you," Hinata says, glimpsing at the other two women. "We all are."</p><p>"Yeah," The redhead grunts a moment later. She leans back into the couch, tilting her glass in idle circles. "If Suigetsu could be even a <em>tenth </em>as romantic as that, I probably wouldn't try to strangle him every night."</p><p>Tenten laughs. "You'd strangle him regardless."</p><p>A fond smirk threatens Karin's lips, twitching as she fights it off. "True. Knowing that prick, he'd spill everything all over me or something."</p><p>The girls chatter on, swooning as they bring up memories of their own soft moments and cackling at their failed ones, taking pride in the hearts in each others eyes, when Ino breaks the mood. She's grinning widely, ear to ear with a hint of mischief weighing on the edge; her hair curls around her finger, acting like an omen to Sakura.</p><p>"So Forehead," She begins in a singsong that makes Sakura's glass pause against her lips. Her impossibly blue eyes flash, glittering coyly. "When are we going to meet him?"</p><p>Sakura glimpses towards the side, worrying her lip between her teeth and sipping nervously at her drink. "I don't know," She admits after a moment. "We're not that serious."</p><p>A collective scoff comes from all the girls, Hinata too, much to Sakura's embarrassment. "Please!" Ino guffaws, eyes rolling far more enthusiastically than Sakura is used to. "You two are practically engaged at this point."</p><p>This time, Sakura rolls her eyes. "We've been on two dates."</p><p>"<em>Three</em>," Tenten pipes in.</p><p>Sakura rounds on the brunette with a mock glare. "The first time we met doesn't count!" Sakura takes a heavy sip of her wine, lips pursed in the forming of a pout. She doesn't want to get too far ahead of herself, doesn't want to jinx it because his smile is ingrained in her <em>bones</em> and it would be a shame if the space were a waste. "We're taking things slow."</p><p>"He's bringing you lunch," Karin says, as if its something obvious. "<em>To work. </em>That sounds pretty husbandly to me."</p><p>"He's just a gentleman," Sakura mumbles, now grimacing as she stares at her near-empty glass. She doesn't mind the dry aftertaste usually—could chug it down in a few gulps on a normal day—but suddenly, she wants something a little stronger. There isn't enough alcohol in this room—no, in this <em>world</em>—to deal with this conversation, much to her frustration. And knowing her friends, they aren't anywhere near done with it.</p><p>That particular gleam reappears on Ino's countenance, making Sakura's body stiffen further. She never trusts that look—learned not to years ago—so Sakura warily watches as Ino folds her hands against her chest like some animated character. "Mmm, you really are lucky," Ino sighs, leaning her shoulder against Sakura's. She lays her cheek upon her shoulder, eyes narrowing impishly, and links their arms together. "He's got that cute, country boy charm."</p><p>The girls coo in agreement, talking about his hair and the way he smiles, how he towers over her like her own personal guard and it makes Sakura perk her chin up higher. They've only seen pictures from their date together, and the first-hand descriptions from Hinata and Ino, so they don't realize that he's more than a smattering of apple butter. He's something else all together; something smoother, actually, like whiskey with sugar maple and a generous spoonful of Tennessee honey, chilled.</p><p>Absently, Sakura acknowledges the smile that stretches across her face. Its a dumb thought, childish in a way, but her tongue suddenly craves that little bit of sweetness because it makes her think of <em>him</em>.</p><hr/><p>
  <strong>Like A Glass of Whiskey</strong>
</p><hr/><p>If Sakura's learned anything about Genma, its that he sees every occasion through with <em>feeling</em>, and that he likes to top his own high expectations.</p><p>Funny, because she would have never guessed from their first meeting nor from appearances alone, that he was a closet romantic. At first glance, he's bluesy, country rock music and twangy guitar, bass-baritone notes and rebelliousness, wrapped up in a generous dollop of southern charm. And, well, he's definitely all of that—and <em>more. </em>He's also all romance and manners with a little bit of measured ruggedness, topped off with a rim of sugar that's pleasant on her tongue.</p><p>And he isn't afraid to show it.</p><p>So when Genma appears on her doorstep in dark wash jeans and a flannel shirt, a jacket in that shade of green she likes draped over him and his hair free from its usual bandana, Sakura isn't sure what to expect. Part of her wants to curse him for being so attractive without trying, because it's <em>just not fair. </em>While another part wants to pull him inside, ravish his chest with greedy fingers and kittenish nips and become <em>one </em>with his soul; while a third part is a little exasperated that she can't figure out his plans through his outfit.</p><p>He doesn't offer her any inkling of what he has in store, much to her frustration. He just chuckles and dishevels her hair, winks every now and then as he says, <em>"We'll see."</em></p><p>Meanwhile, Genma can't help but tease her. She's so easy to rile up, full of rose pedals and honey but quick to scorch like a good ol' bottle of Johnnie Walker, and he likes that hint of hazelnut that follows in the form of a pout. Its what makes her so endearing, he thinks.</p><p>He hides it well (or at least, he hopes he does) but he's fully aware of the anxiety that rumbles in his belly because he's jumped through hoops and climbed mountains in an attempt at making tonight perfect.</p><p>Its all careful planning and a bit of chance (and a little bit of bargaining with his roommates, but Sakura doesn't need to know that), but in the end it actually is <em>perfect</em>. He managed to get his roommates to not only leave the house, but to help clean the place in preparation for the night, with relatively minimal complaints and a Hell of a lot of ribbing. He can't recall ever seeing the living room so spotless, or the bathroom so tidy, so perhaps it would be wishful thinking on his part, but he hopes it stays this way.</p><p>When they pull up to the single-story building, Genma's nerves flutter. He jumps out quickly so he can round the side of his truck and help Sakura out, and when he chances a glance at her face, which is marred with both confusion and excitement, he feels his shoulders stiffen.</p><p>"Is this your house?" She asks, eyeing the windows overlooking the yard.</p><p>"I mean, who else's house would I take you to?" He replies, leading her around the side of the building with a hand against the small of her back. He works the latch on the gate in the back, then once its pushed open, Genma eases her inside.</p><p>The resulting gasp that leaves her lips a moment later makes his heart stutter.</p><p>Fairly lights twinkle, bridging from branch to branch like an intricate cathedral of lights that trace the footpath into the back. The yard is intimately sized, offering cover from neighboring yards with a healthy canopy of trees, a hammock strung near the back. There's a picnic bench at the center of it all, adorned with flowers and unlit candles, a set of plates and wine glasses on either side and a heat lamp on the end. Its the kind of thing depicted in romance movies, that women dream of from their men.</p><p>And he did it for her.</p><p><em>Ino is</em> really<em> going to hate her.</em></p><p>Sakura approaches the table, her fingers grazing over the sunflowers and baby's breath that's piled atop the table, then picks up the bottle of wine to inspect it. After a moment, she whips around to pin him with glossy eyes, revealing the flush that colors her cheeks without hesitance. "Wow, you must <em>really </em>like me to go through all of this."</p><p>Genma combs his fingers through his hair, scoffing and turning his gaze elsewhere. The tips of his ears burn with his fluster, his words knotting up for just a moment before he huffs a laugh. "You done making fun of me?" He grunts, making his way up the deck.</p><p>She follows after him with a pleased smirk. His back is to her as he toys around with the grill, lighting it up, so she wraps herself around him and presses a kiss to his shoulder; he relaxes into her embrace almost instantly. "I'm sorry," she apologizes, although its all mirth. "I appreciate you doing all of this for me."</p><p>Genma turns in her arms so he can dishevel her hair, ignoring the batting of her hands and her indignant shout. "You deserve it, especially after that last date."</p><p>"Hey, I liked it."</p><p>He hums. He liked it, too<em>—</em>the spontaneity, the intimacy, the implications of his intentions. But a woman like Sakura<em>—</em>no, <em>any woman of his—</em>deserves much more than an hour of takeout in the bed of his pickup. She deserves some <em>real </em>food, something made with <em>soul </em>and fire and passion.</p><p>"Go take a seat while I get started on dinner," He says as he disentangles himself from her, then makes his way to the sliding door.</p><p>Sakura follows him a few steps, waiting politely right at the entrance. "Anything I can do to help?"</p><p>He shakes his head as he pulls what he needs from the fridge. He had prepared everything earlier; marinaded the steaks, softened the potatoes, washed the green beans and chopped the carrots. He's even got a slice of that cake she likes so much sitting on the top shelf. All he has to do it cook. Raido said it might have been a little much for <em>"just a date"</em>, but Genma disagrees. His Pop used to say that a well-fed woman is a happy woman, after all. He's trusted that for years, so he wasn't about to go back on that now.</p><p>Initially he was going to tell her, <em>"Nah, go ahead and take a seat," </em>but she looks so determined, that he can't help but chuckle. He waves her into the kitchen, noting how brightly her eyes glow with the approval. He gestures to the stove. "You can cook the vegetables and the mashed potatoes," He says, then gives her a look. "But don't go digging into the fridge!"</p><p>When she grins, all mischief and challenge, Genma shakes his head. She'll be the end of him.</p><hr/><p>
  <strong>Like A Glass of Whiskey</strong>
</p><p><em>Let's Make Love </em>by Tim McGraw and Faith Hill</p><hr/><p>They're laying on the couch today.</p><p>Her couch, specifically, with throws draped over their legs and his head cradled in her lap. Sakura's fingers comb through his hair absently<em>, </em>manicured nails soothing away the headache that had been stewing away ever since the middle of his shift. He had planned for something different today: a casual walk around the pier, maybe up into the trail that climbs up the Ridge, then have dinner somewhere in town. But his head throbs so badly that he can't imagine doing any of that anytime soon.</p><p>Hell, he hasn't even changed out of his uniform and he smells like sun-dried pine needles. He was going to reschedule their plans, but when he heard how excited she was, he didn't want to trample on that. She invited him in, and his Ma always told him to never say no to a woman worth the headache. And honestly, he's glad that he came by anyway. They called for delivery from the sushi shop across the street and he downed a handful of aspirin, and now they're watching some movie in her living room, something romantic from the 2000's. He's probably seen it before; it sounds familiar (from what he's actually tuned into) but he isn't too concerned with the plot.</p><p>
  <em>Baby I've been drifting away, dreaming all day.</em>
</p><p>All he can focus on is how nice it feels to be in her embrace, to have her skin against his<em>, </em>the warmth of her body around his own. He <em>loves </em>this.</p><p>Genma tilts his head to peer up at her, assess her facial features as if its the first time he's seeing her. She doesn't notice his perusal of her, she's so in-tune with her movie, but that's fine because he just wants to enjoy the view. He traces the slope of her nose, the curves of her lips, counts each little eyelash that frames those pretty eyes<em>—</em><em>Of holding you, touching you</em><em>—</em>and then she glances down at him and all the breath leaves his lungs all at once.</p><p>Sakura's fingers slide through his hair one last time before they slowly, cautiously, trail down the edge of his temple and the side of his jaw. Her thumb brushes over the corner of his lips once, and before she can pull away, Genma's hand rests on top of hers, keeping her in place so he can lay a kiss to the base of her palm. Her breath hitches as he ghosts a lick against her skin; he can feel it from his position on her lap, and all that does is make him wonder what's going through her head.</p><p>Her lashes lower, leaving her gaze as slivers of lusty jade, and then she bites at the edge of her lips. Tentatively, as if he's worried he'll spook her somehow, Genma feathers his fingers down her arm, strokes the underside of her wrist, telling her without words what he wants<em>—Th</em><em>e only thing I wanna do is be with you, </em><em>as close to you, as I can be.</em></p><p>And its as if that was all they needed.</p><p>He sits up, maneuvering so he's facing her. His hand finds purchase against her cheek where he pulls her in for a searing kiss. Every time he kisses her, its like the first time. Its steeped in a passion that <em>ignites </em>and <em>smolders </em>and it reaches so deeply into his soul that he forgets how to breathe. She melts into his touch like milk chocolate on a hot day, tastes just as decadent, and the flavor of her moan is felt as deeply within him as his tailbone<em>—</em><em>Let's make love all night long.</em></p><p>With a shattered breath, Genma cants his head further so he can feel more of her, shifts so his right hand is planted beside her thigh. He feels both of Sakura's hands lace behind his neck, and when she rubs circles below his ears, he <em>moans</em>. Nothing about this kiss is innocent, not this time. Its demanding and fiery, all tongue and teeth and <em>damn,</em> if it isn't intoxicating. He takes her lower lip between his teeth, playfully pulling away but then reclaiming them with a <em>vengeance</em> at her tightened grip, lapping up the thread of saliva that bridges between them.</p><p>Sakura whimpers with anticipation, tugging on Genma so he'll come closer and dragging her hands from his neck to splay across his chest. She rubs his shoulders, fists the front of his shirt, caresses his abdomen. It flutters under her touch, flexing with his sharp intake of breath<em>—</em>ripples with waves of excitement. She feels his skin now, rubs at his lower back encouragingly because <em>she wants this.</em></p><p>
  <em>I wanna feel you in my soul.</em>
</p><p>Genma moves again so he's on the chaise in front of her, takes hold of her beneath the knees and <em>pulls </em>so she's dragged down under him; and that little bit of roughness makes Sakura's stomach <em>twist</em>. She laughs as he chuckles, both caught up in just how <em>right </em>this feels.</p><p>Their spell is broken when Sakura's irises flicker down to his waist, towards the thick arousal straining against his pants, and with her smile bitten like that, Genma finds himself <em>struggling </em>to reign in his want. His desire is all knotted up and frayed, sewn into his chest haphazardly and when she starts pulling her shirt up, Genma's hands quickly work his own shirt over his head. When he finally gets it off, he finds himself faltering at the sight of her, nearly bare, to him.</p><p>He wants to admire her as she is, he really does, because he wants to be able to recall every little detail of that lacy white bra on those rough days, but she's already slipped out of it and he can't <em>concentrate</em>.</p><p>Their lips clash again, but this time its with a hunger twice as devastating as before. Genma's hands caress every inch of her that he can reach in an attempt at memorizing every crevice, his fingers plucking at her nipples and his knuckles rolling the pert buds. He pulls away from her with a thick breath to trail kisses down her neck; he nips her, nuzzling the sensitive skin just below her jaw until she <em>mewls </em>and <em>God</em>, its music to his ears.</p><p>His muscles ripple then as the pads of Sakura's fingers skate up his spine. She's slow in her teasing, inquisitive, painting a line of fire up his back until she reaches the nape of his neck while her knees dig into his sides. Genma growls<em>—</em><em>Do you know what you do to me?</em><em>—</em>rolls his hips so he can press the head of his arousal against her heat. Her hips lift, grinding against his while she finds the nape of his neck with her fingers. She massages the muscles there, smiling at the soft purr that rumbles from Genma's throat.</p><p>He paints violets against the hollow of her collarbone, hot and wet, down her chest and to her navel where his tongue glides against the edge of her navel, coaxing his name and a pleased shiver from her. Then, he works his way back up, licking up the valley of her breasts to her throat, ending at her chin in one continuous movement.</p><p>Hearing the heated affection in Sakura's moans makes Genma hum in delight<em>—</em><em>Everything inside of me is wanting you</em><em>—</em>so he responds by taking a rosy nipple between his lips. His tongue swirls around her nipple in time with his fingers, accompanied by teasing grazes of his teeth and soft suckling. He caresses the underside of her breasts with the lightest touch he's capable of, smooths his palms down her sides just as gently, evoking miles of goosebumps along her body.</p><p>He releases her swollen buds, marveling at the redness that colors them now, opting to dust her abdomen and sides with feverish nips that make her breathing hitch<em>—touching you</em><em>—</em>Sakura lifts her hips again when his lips tickle the sensitive skin below her navel, then her hands move to work on the buckle of her shorts but Genma pushes them away. He ignores her grunt, grinning so mischievously that it makes Sakura pause, but before she can call him out on it, the brunette has her sprawled over his shoulder.</p><p>"Genma!"</p><p>He laughs, wholeheartedly and cheekily, and gifts her a playful nibble to the back of her thigh while taking a handful of her ass. She gives a puff of measured mirth but Genma knows she's smiling into his back. He finds her bedroom quickly, opening and shutting the door with his heel and dropping the rosette almost haphazardly onto her bed; she's hardly fallen onto it, when he's already reclaimed her mouth with his own.</p><p>Reaching between them, Genma works on the belt cinched around his waist, pulling away with a grunt as his excitement makes his fingers fumble and giving Sakura the chance to slip out of her shorts. Soon enough, what's left of their clothing falls to the floor, and Genma is left on his hackles, breathless.</p><p>She's <em>gorgeous</em>.</p><p>There's thousands of other adjectives he could (and should) use because that one just doesn't do her justice, but his brain just won't process them. He's stunned stupid at the sight of her; all soft curves from the crests of her hips to the dips of her waist, the delicate swell of her breasts, skin flushed with desire and bruised with his affection, her gaze heady and half-lidded. All he can think is how he's so, <em>so </em>lucky and<em>—</em><em>I'm so in love with you.</em></p><p>Her knees sway, lightly nudging him out of his stupor. His cock throbs, twitching as he fights off the desire to burrow into her. He wants her so bad, has <em>been </em>wanting her since the moment he first laid eyes on her, but he can't rush this.</p><p>Genma takes his time exploring her, bringing his lips and teeth and hands everywhere he can reach, learning how she likes to be touched, what spots she likes sucked. The underside of her breasts are one of her favorite spots, he learns, as she keens and arches when he so much as <em>blows </em>on her there. But the further down he goes, the more haggard her breathing becomes and the more abruptly she reacts to his touch. He kisses her hip bone, right along the seam of her thigh and hip, fingers feathering along the inside of her thigh as he hitches it over his shoulder while one arm curls around her knee.<em><br/></em></p><p>He peers up at her<em>—Look in my eyes, let's get lost tonight with each other</em><em>—</em>gives her one last <em>disastrously</em> heated look before he dives down. Sakura stiffens beneath him at the first lick. Its long and slow, tracing the length of her womanhood all the way up to the hood. Her breath stalls in her chest, nearly choking her, and her first instinct is to sink her fingers into Genma's hair. Her stomach dissolves into a smoldering puddle of oil that threatens to catch fire with every movement of his mouth. He circles her clit lightly, his hot breath teasing her folds just as mercilessly as his tongue and when he moans, as if she's the most delicious thing he's ever tasted, it makes Sakura's shoulders jump from the mattress.</p><p>"Gen," Sakura sighs, lashes falling over her eyes.</p><p>He traces her entrance with a finger then, dips it inside to the first knuckle before pulling out while he spells his name against her clit with his tongue. She's <em>soaked </em>for him, and only him, and <em>fuck</em> if that's not the most enticing thing in the whole damn world.</p><p>Sakura writhes beneath him, her shallow pants bouncing against the walls and they only get louder when he finally sheathes two fingers inside of her. Her velvety walls clench him tightly, pulling him deeper but not having anything left to grasp, so he slides out just as easily as he enters. He picks up the pace, basking in the sounds she makes as he curls his fingers within her; she's <em>so </em>wet, that each movement makes her juices spill but that's okay.</p><p>Genma can be, among many things, a greedy man.</p><p>So he <em>sucks </em>and <em>licks </em>and his thumb flicks her clit until she's <em>gushing </em>for him with such unrestrained moans that Genma can't find it in himself to swallow his own. He reaches down so he can ease some of the strain on his manhood, shivering minutely as he feels the sheen of his arousal beading against his engorged tip. He strokes himself as best as he can in his position, slowly, because he wants to be able to feel her around him as long as possible, just enough to coax away the almost painful intensity of his lust.</p><p>Meanwhile, Sakura can't help but peek at him. The raw concentration on his face as he <em>devours </em>her, the way his brows scrunch and his eyelashes lower, fluttering whenever he peers back up at her, is so, <em>so </em>attractive. Its an image that will haunt her dreams for <em>years</em> to come, she's sure. Then when he brushes against that bundle of nerves one time too many, she feels her muscles tense; they flutter and her knees tighten into place, while her torso trembles and<em>—"Oh </em>fuck <em>Genma!"</em><em>—</em><em>Fuck</em> she needs him.</p><p>He savors the taste of her a little longer, enjoying the feeling of being tipsy, noting just how sensitive Sakura is with how much she bucks at his languid licks. And when he finally gives her mercy, moving to pepper her inner thigh with appraising nips, his eyes are <em>dark. </em></p><p>It takes Sakura's breath away because she's never seen him<em>—or anyone</em> for that matter<em>—</em>peruse her with such latent <em>intent </em>before.</p><p>Genma crawls over her, purposely dragging his body against her own heated one. He doesn't look away from her for even a <em>second</em>, so intent on watching her when he <em>finally</em> takes her, and the image it conjures sends perverted waves of excitement crashing into her. So Sakura stares back, watching blatantly as his fist twists lazily around his length until she <em>can't </em>watch anymore. She pulls him down into a rough, <em>demanding</em> kiss, forcing him to let go of his manhood in favor of steadying himself over her.</p><p>"Are you...?" Genma murmurs against her mouth, his sentence breaking as he probes her sodden folds with the head of his cock.</p><p>"Yeah," Sakura breathlessly replies. "I'm on birth control."</p><p>Setting his brow against hers, Genma gives one last playful brush of his knuckles against her entrance under the guise of aligning himself with her. He wants to <em>see </em>every emotion in her eyes as he enters her for the first time, feel her soul as deeply as he feels <em>her</em>, so he braces on an elbow and cups her cheek. There's a moment of pause, where all the other can do is <em>stare</em><em>—</em>evergreen against hickory<em>—</em>and in each other, they see the pure <em>adoration </em>reflected in one another's stare.</p><p>In him, Sakura can see every individual swirl of color in his eyes; raw umber and caramel, a bit of whiskey dotted with specks of dark chocolate and flecks of gold. They glow with playfulness and something that looks like <em>love</em>, and it sets her entirety <em>ablaze</em>.</p><p>In her, Genma sees an ageless beauty full of promise and hope, colored in verdant galaxies and splinters of cyan that contrast the liquor in his eyes. They're alight with excitement and arousal, and if he isn't just imagining it—a little bit of <em>love</em>, too.</p><p>Sakura smiles, closing her eyes as he places a sugary kiss to the tip of her nose. Its innocent to its core, a brief fluttering of lips to skin, but its enough to ease the nervousness that swarms in her chest. She can feel him, not quite entering but just beginning to stretch her, so she looks back up at him, taking his face in her hands just as he does hers.</p><p>
  <em>Let's make love all night long.</em>
</p><p>She cries out, her moan strangled and elongated as he sheathes himself inside her. Genma's own moan is just as shaky, transitioning into a heady curse that's ground into shivers. He stretches her, <em>deliciously</em> so, with a faint twinge of pain that makes her back curve up and her head spin. She swears she can see the sunset now, all corals and sherbets and shades of indigo against the stark whiteness behind her eyelids, and he hasn't even <em>moved </em>yet!</p><p>Genma slides back, slowly, before easing back in, just barely managing to keep his eyes open as Sakura clings to him. She's so <em>tight</em>, it could be painful, but the way her walls flutter around him make it all worth it, and she's so wet that he doesn't need to wait but he does anyway <em>just in case.</em></p><p>He doesn't move until he feels her knee nudge him, until she whispers<em>, "Gen," </em>against his lips. He pulls back almost completely before snapping his hips forward, laying down the pace almost immediately. His thrusts are slow and steady, but powerful all the same, clearly an attempt at savoring every single moment they have together. He wants this to last, to go on forever<em>—</em><em>until all our strength is gone</em><em>—</em>because he can't recall <em>ever</em> feeling so much pleasure in his life.</p><p>And its all because of <em>her.</em></p><p>He loves the way she feels around him, so snug and hot and <em>soft. </em>He loves the way her pallid skin glows beneath him, how it ripples under his palms. He loves how her hands slides down his neck, his shoulders, his back, angrily raking crescents and lines into his skin like a personal branding.</p><p>He loves it all.</p><p>Genma picks up the pace as he feels his climax beginning to dance away from his grasp and reaches down to swirl his thumb around Sakura's clit. She gasps, twisting in his embrace at the abrupt roughness and tugs at his hair. He groans in pleasure, moving to nuzzle her neck next. He tastes the salt on her skin, and that somehow only provokes his excitement further until he's facing the edge of an orgasm; but he doesn't leap. Not yet.</p><p>"Holy shit, Sakura," He grits out, nearly pulling out in a attempt at stalling his end.</p><p>She pants, laughs actually, while pushing aside the sweaty strands of hair that cling to her face but doesn't say anything else. Genma eases up onto his palms so he can stroke her at a different angle, and is immediately rewarded by the sight of her beautiful breasts bouncing with each, powerful rut of his hips. He bows over her to take one of her nipples into his mouth while he kneads the other with a more desperate roughness than he had previously.</p><p>And Sakura <em>loves </em>it.</p><p>"Gen—Genma—!"</p><p>She feels him bite her, not hard enough to hurt, but enough for the pleasure to bleed into something else, yet it still isn't enough. Sakura snakes a hand between them so she can take over rolling her clit between her proximal knuckles, ignoring the burn of her muscles as she begins to twitch. Noticing, Genma hooks her knee with his elbow, opening her wider to him and making her see <em>stars</em>. And then, when he shifts his hips <em>just right</em>, those stars erupt into whole galaxies.</p><p>At this point, she can't breathe. She <em>can, </em>but she <em>can't</em>. Her whole body is <em>burning</em>, the coil in her belly compressing tighter and tighter along with her inner walls with each thrust he gives. She wants to scream, can feel it building up in the back of her throat, because it shouldn't be possible to feel so much pleasure from one man but Genma somehow manages to intertwine his fingers with hers, hushes her with sharp whispers in her ear—<em>Hold on tight. Just let go</em>.</p><p>His thrusts become more desperate now, alternating between steady and deep, and erratic and sharp, making it impossible for her to keep up. He's going to come. Sakura's grip on his hand—and cock—tightens, prompting him to lay back down against her and cup her neck with his free hand.</p><p>"I'm gonna—" His words catch in his throat, coming out as a low growl against her shoulder that makes her toes curl. "Fuck Sakura."</p><p>"Don't stop," She pants, rubbing at herself with a carnality that makes her entire world <em>rock. </em>She cries out, her walls pulsating around Genma's girth as that river of fire within her <em>crashes</em>. His brain short circuits at the sheer force of her orgasm, and now that its finally passed, his desperation for release grows. He shifts back when Sakura releases him from her vice-like grip, takes her hips with his hands and he <em>pounds </em>into her with a <em>vengeance.</em></p><p>And when he finally, <em>finally</em>, comes, its with shallow thrusts that make her whine in pleasured pain, and a broken curse into the air.</p><p>Once he's sure he's finished, Genma pulls out of Sakura, both quaking with the over sensitivity, then lays down on top of her. She accepts him with a glowing, exhausted smile, combs her fingers through his hair just as she had earlier in the day while her other hand splays across his back. He strokes random patterns into her shoulder in tandem, content with listening to her heartbeat as it tries to right itself, kissing the ride of her breast every now and then. They stayed like that for a while, basking in the warm afterglow of their passion, content with just the feel of one another, until the evening glow darkens into a shade of gray.</p><p>Genma sits up slightly, just enough for him to chance a glance at her, hoping to permanently burn the memory of her every curve into his mind.  Then, when Sakura's brows furrow in curiosity, he leans down to press his lips against hers.</p><p>He kisses her, slowly, languidly, communicating to her without words every little thing he feels. Its different than every other kiss they've had until now. And he can feel the change, too. It steals words that didn't need to be said, bares all their passions and adoration that exists between them. A kiss like this is a <em>beginning, </em>a promise of much, much more to come.</p><p>
  <em>Let's make love.</em>
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  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>And that's chapter two! I honestly put my heart and my soul into writing this chapter, and I'm honestly surprised I managed to finish it before the end of Genma Weekend. So I hope you guys loved it as much as I did.</p><p>Also, back at the top, I mentioned working on a oneshot and a whole new fic that I hope to post soon. Well, let me tell you a little about them!</p><p>[Home]</p><p>Summary: Genma always knew that being a single father meant doing what was best for his daughter, whether it be tea parties in the yard or wiping her tears away. And he likes to think he's done a good job at it so far. But then she comes to him one day and says, "I want a mom," and it makes him realize that maybe, he doesn't have to do it all alone. And apparently, his little girl already has somebody in mind.</p><p>In this slow burn, multi-chapter fic, Genma is a 30 year old, single father to a 7 year old named Kaiya, who is struggling to keep up with work, bills, and raising Kaiya. Her mom, Anko, is hardly in the picture, so Genma often has to rely on his parents and his best friends (Kakashi, Raido, Iwashi and Yamato) to help him raise her. Kaiya's teacher, Sakura, is a very kind and loving 26 year old who is very involved in her students lives and has taken a particular interest in the rambunctious little girl after an incident that resulted in an impromptu parent-teacher conference. So Kaiya, wanting a functional mother figure in her life, decides "why not make Ms. Sakura and my daddy fall in love?"</p><p>There's a lot of wholesome moments, steamy moments, and "just kiss her already, you idiot!" moments. So if you like Like A Glass of Whiskey and its bluesy, southern gentleman aesthetic, definitely be on the lookout for this fic. I'll be posting the first chapter during Genma Weekend, along with everything else!</p><p>[Good Samaritan]</p><p>Summary: Genma isn't sure what he's done to deserve this, but as he eyes the curves of the pretty, stiletto-heeled woman bent over the hood of his car, he decides its best not to question it. [In which Genma's car breaks down on the side of the road, and a good samaritan takes pity on him.]</p><p>This oneshot is exactly as it says. Its his birthday, he's ready to go have some fun with his friends, when his car breaks down. Flat tire. And after some searching in his trunk, Genma realizes Raido still has his tire iron so he's stuck waiting for him to come and help, when another car pulls up. And what does he find in the drivers seat? A pretty woman with pink hair in a pencil skirt and stilettos, wielding a tire iron. And as respectful as he wants to be to the woman helping him out, he just can't help himself.</p><p>Anyway, that's all I've got. I really do hope you guys will check them out, especially Home, because I'm putting my soul into that one, too. Especially since Kamen is coming to an end, soon. So, yeah.</p><p>Thanks again everyone!</p>
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